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+--- Thread: Sunderland Recovery (/showthread.php?tid=48157)
Sunderland Recovery - Charlie Nickles - 11-01-2024
A weathered mansion stands tall against a gray sky. Branches of bare trees encircle the property, casting elongated shadows upon the mansion's narrow windows. The building, cloaked in shadows, has peeling paint that desperately clings to rotting wood beams. Yet still, vibrant flowerbeds bloom defiantly at the mansion’s feet, an emblem of hope breaking through the decay- much like the sun breaks through the gray clouds overhead.
Set in front of the mansion is a sign which reads “Sunderland Recovery” in bright letters that stand out against the dimness. The air is thick with a sense of transformation, punctuated only by the echoes of muffled voices from behind the mansion’s double-doors. Our curious camera fixates on the doors before moving directly through them. We come into an open space that used to be a living room, but is now serving as a lobby. There are hallways off to both sides of the room, and tacky ‘inspirational’ art is hung up all over the walls. Uncomfortable chairs are lined up in a horizontal row near the room's center, all facing towards a desk. We see a bald man sitting in one of the chairs, fidgeting with his fingers. Eventually he approaches the blonde receptionist seated at the desk. She greets him with a smile and plenty of exposed cleavage.
”Welcome to Sunderland Recovery! My name is Mary and I’m here to help you however I can. Should I check you into our addiction recovery program? You’ve been sweating bullets over there ever since we opened.”
”Uhrm, no. I’m just here to pick up my friend. Can you tell me when he's getting out?”
Mary smiles and nods before turning her gaze towards her computer.
"What's the name?”
”Charlie Nickles.”
”And what was your name again, sir?”
”Are you asking for my legal name, my government name, my stage name, my professional name, my wrestling name, my reddit username, or for my interspecies snuff films name? Either way it’s Jim “The Jim” Jimson, but sometimes my friends just call me Jim.”
”Uhm, well okay sir…give me a moment to look-”
The receptionist turns back to Jim with a grimace.
”I’m sorry sir, it says here I actually can not disclose any information about that patient to you, or to anyone else affiliated with the…let’s see here….”Brotherhood of Bastards”?”
Jim steps back in astonishment, placing a hand over his chest for dramatic effect. It’s at this point you realize he is wearing an old-school ‘Dolphin Destruction Squad’ t-shirt that barely covers his belly button.
”But we’re his best friends!”
At that moment three men walk into the scene from one of the side hallways, clearly carrying on their own conversation. Walking in the middle we see a very put together version of Charlie Nickles, recently shaved while donning slacks and a polo. He’s flanked on either side by men in white coats. The camera pans over to the trio, allowing us to see the name tags on the coats of Dr. Harry and Dr. Mason.
“Charlie, we’re glad to hear you’re feeling better, but we’re concerned about you jumping back into wrestling so soon after being discharged. The physicality of the sport can be overwhelming. Not to mention the mental toll of living life on the road. That could be very triggering for someone like you.”
”Exactly. The last thing we want is for you to relapse. We’ve seen so many wrestlers struggle with sobriety after a return to the ring. While it’s clear you’ve made tremendous progress here with us these last few months, we’re not quite sure if going back into wrestling is the best move for you. In fact, we’re pretty sure it isn’t.”
”I appreciate your concern, I really do. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, I know it won’t be- all I’m saying is I think I can switch into an outpatient treatment program and be succesful.”
Dr. Harry and Dr. Mason exchange nervous glances. It’s clear they’re not on board with Charlie’s idea.
“Plus, I can’t afford to stick around any longer! My savings dried up weeks ago, and I’m never going to be able to pay off the rest of my bill if I can’t get back to work!”
Dr. Harry and Dr. Mason exchange glances of astonishment. It’s clear they had no knowledge of Charlie’s financial constraints- and that they have no more time for this patient.
”In that case you absolutely need to get back to work as quickly as possible! Call us when you have money again!”
”Ok, but what about my outpatient treatment? Is there anything I nee-”
Charlie turns around only to see that the doctors have suddenly vanished. Then, a bald man rushes to his side and gives him a huge hug.
”Charlie! I thought I’d never see you again! I’m so glad you finally got out of prison!”
Charlie looks down at Jim with a confused look, before letting out a bellicose guffaw.
”Hahaha! You thought I was in prison!?! Jim, I was in REHAB! I finally went and got myself clean, just like I told you I was going to do all those months ago!”
Jim looks up at Charlie, clearly more than a little disappointed.
“Oh…I thought you had gone away because you did something badass. But it's okay that you’re not cool anymore, you can still hang out with us sometimes. Now come on Mr. Clean, we’ve got the limo waiting for you outside.”
“Mr. Clean? You're the one with the bald head! And just so you know, sobriety isn’t something to make fun of. It’s a very serious issue, because addiction is a deadly disease. It can kill people…and it can also kill the people you love…”
Jim rolls his eyes as Charlie lowers his gaze in shame. Jim grabs Charlie by the arm and walks him out of the lobby and onto the front porch. That’s where we see the world famous Bastard limo pulling up in style, with thick clouds of smoke pouring out of every window. Once the limo parks a door opens, and we see Thunder Knuckles step out with a smirk on his face and a fat blunt between his lips.
”Nice to see ya again Chuck. Funny, you never told us you were running off to Sissyville.”
“Who the fuck even told you I was here?”
”BOB’s got sources all over the world! You can’t go into a den full of addicts and not expect BOB to know where ya went. We figured that you were probably banging all the junkie whores that came through here. But now you’ve got yourself booked again for Warfare so we’re here to pick you up! Every BOB-VIP deserves to ride in style, and you’re no exception!”
”I’m not part of your deranged circus, okay? Get it through your head. I’m representing myself from here on out. I’m a decent person, a good man! And I’m not going to let your little den of liars and thieves drag me out of sobriety.”
Jim Jimson shifts nervously between TK and Charlie as they argue in front of the limo.
”Jesus you sound like such a pussy! Here, take a couple hits of this and maybe you won’t be acting like such a lil bitch.”
TK takes the blunt out of his mouth and extends it to Charlie, who simply slaps the marijuana towards the ground.
”This is un-fucking-believable! I just left treatment, and the first thing you offer me is the devil’s lettuce? See, this is exactly what’s wrong with you fucks! Dr. Harry and Dr. Mason told me I need to cut negative influences out of my life, and that starts now!”
"What the fuck is the big deal? It’s your strain! “Burn the World”, remember?”
”I’m a new man, a changed person- and I don’t need Brothers like you dragging me back down. I’ll make my own way to Warfare!”
”Make your own way to Warfare? Do you even know where it is? It's in Silent-fucking-Hill-for-Christ's-sake!”
”The XWF sent me very detailed travel instructions! They said I needed to go to some quiet hill! And that it's sometimes in a real and static location- so basically all I have to do is start walking, and then find a hill, and then during the non-static times I’ll actually have been at the right location, so when the match starts I’m at the quiet hill and ready to go for showtime!”
”That’s the stupidest shit you’ve ever said to me, Charlie. But fine, you want to turn your nose up at our offer? Whatever. Let's roll, Jim!”
TK and Jimson both hop into the limo as Charlie walked off in the other direction, flipping the bastards the bird as he set out to carve his own path. Charlie walked along the cracked edge of the highway as the Sunderland Recovery building slowly faded into the horizon. Charlie knew he had to leave The Brotherhood, but the ache of that decision lingered in his mind. As Charlie walked down this lonely road he could smell the faint tang of pine, the road’s dust, and the promise of renewed hope in the air. Each step felt both lighter and heavier than the last .
What now, you fool?
He thought to himself in a sudden moment of doubt, the words circling his mind with a clarity sharpened by the stillness around him. He could have just hopped into that limo and joined up with BOB once more, but in Charlie’s heart of hearts he knew he needed to reshape his life- even if it felt like trying to remold clay that had long since hardened. What was lost during addiction can’t always be reclaimed during sobriety- and that fact was hard for Charlie to grapple with.
”You’ll need to work for it, really work! And do it the right way. The honest way.”
He muttered aloud, catching himself in a moment of honesty. He knew it wasn’t the kind of work you clocked in for or shrugged off at day's end; it was a labor that was all his own. No one would know if his recovery faltered—no one but himself. He’d spent years convincing himself he wasn’t capable of walking on the clean and honest path, but now, with no family left to lose, the only option was to try.
As daylight turned into dusk, a flickering neon sign caught his eye up ahead, reflecting off the murky water of a nearby lake. He squinted to make out the name: The Slill Inn. The building looked as though it had stood there since the highway’s first mile was paved, a little rundown, with weather-beaten siding and an air of abandonment. Yet, oddly enough, a handful of cars were scattered around the small gravel lot. The faint hum of voices floated out from the restaurant, mingling with the whispers of doubt that trailed in Charlie’s wake.
"I guess I’m a little hungry…maybe I can give them a few autographs in exchange for a bite?"
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking in the stale warmth and the smell of frying oil as a bell chimed overhead. The dim lighting cast a yellow glow over the tables, where a few patrons lingered with cups of coffee and half-eaten plates. Charlie sensed their eyes on him, but he barely met their gaze. He directed his eyes towards the ‘seat yourself’ sign, and promptly plopped down into the first open booth. As Charlie waited patiently in the booth he started nodding his head along to the cheery, up-beat music being played over the restaurant’s radio.
In the murmur of the room, Charlie felt an odd sensation—something almost akin to hope. This place was a relic, yet it had seemingly kept its doors open and kept serving, even when things looked rough. He took it as a sign that perhaps even old places could find new life if they just kept going.
“Welcome to The Slill Inn. My name’s Heather and I will be your server today. Here’s our menu, feel free to ask if you have any questions! In the meantime I’ll start you off with some water and let you look it over, okay?”
Charlie blinked as his concentration was broken by a blonde-haired girl wearing an apron.
“Uhm…thanks.”
He nodded his appreciation as the waitress set down a glass of water and a menu before sauntering off. Charlie looked over the menu, curiously eyeing the branding at the top. The lettering read ‘Lake Shore Restaurant’. Charlie murmured curiously, but didn’t think too much of it. Old brands have to reinvent themselves all the time to stay relevant, and clearly this restaurant was no stranger to that phenomenon.
As Charlie perused the menu, a sudden rumbling overtook his core. He brought a hand to his stomach as his midsection shook with an anxious irritability. Charlie looked around and spotted the faded sign for the restroom before quickly making his way to the diner’s single-person bathroom. As he was washing up, Charlie caught an unfamiliar view of himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself anymore: he was actually beginning to look like a changed man. Charlie touched his cheek and finally felt just how tender he could be. Only once he turned off the faucet did did he realize that the music had come to a pause, but he thought nothing of it- until the sound of sharp static pierced his eardrum.
When Charlie stepped out of the bathroom he saw that everything inside the diner had changed. Tables that once seated happy customers were now flipped over and broken apart. Windows that once looked out onto a lovely lake had now been boarded shut. A foul aroma filled the air as rotted food covered the floorboards. Charlie glanced towards the front door only to find that it too had been boarded shut, with some dark liquid smeared over the wooden planks. Charlie approached the exit hoping to break through it, but as he got closer he saw that there was a message written for him on the door.
If you ReaLly wAnt to
sEE her, you shOUld just DiE.
But You mIght be hEadiNg to
A diffErent place than her,
Charlie.
Charlie stepped back in horror after placing his hand on the door and realizing the message was written in freshly spilled blood. Charlie looked around frantically, desperate to figure out what was going on- until his train of thought was brought to a sudden standstill as the radio began to play once more.
Que yo cargo de la pura fuego calentura
Mi troca es la dura me acompaña una hermosura
En mi Barrio, my vatos loco
Mi troca es la dura me acompaña una hermosura
En mi Barrio, my vatos loco
Charlie couldn’t understand the lyrics, but he immediately recognized the tune: it was his deceased daughter’s theme music. Charlie ran his hands through his hair, a clear sense of fear and paranoia sinking into his heart. That’s when he heard the hushed voice of a child singing along with the music.
"Eeeennnn mmmiii bbbaarrrrrriiioooo!"
Charlie turned around and saw a small girl, no more than seven or eight year olds, singing along with the radio. The poor girl was dressed in bloody blue rags with dirt caked onto her face, but in her hands she held a shiny replica of LSM’s old luchadora mask. Charlie cocked his head to the side as he observed the child, a growing sense of concern building in his chest. Charlie knelt down so he could speak to the girl on her level.
”Where did you get this from?”
Charlie reached out and touched the mask but the girl quickly withdrew, taking a few cautious steps back.
”It’s okay, don’t be scared- I’m a family man.”
The girl looked at Charlie with apprehension in her beady little eyes as she clutched the luchadora mask to her chest. Charlie looked around for any other sign of life, but seeing none he turned his attention back to the girl.
”What are you doing here?”
”I’m here to see El-Ez-Em!”
The dirt-caked girl hopped up and down excitedly as she clutched that oh-so precious mask.
”See her?”
”She’s coming here! El-Ez-Em!”
”Who's coming here? The Latina Submission Machina?”
”Zombie Machina! hehe…”
The girl chuckled to herself as she swayed from side to side.
”My name’s Cheryl, what’s your name Mister?”
”My name’s Charlie.”
A look of horror flashed across the young child’s face.
”Ch-Charlie? Like…Ch-Charlie Ni-Nickles?”
Charlie smiled at the recognition.
”Yeah, that’s me. A fan, I take it?”
”AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
The petrified girl shrieked in horror before she was able to muster the courage needed to flee. She darted away from Charlie, and his attempt to reach out after her only caused the poor child more fright.
”MURDERER! MONSTER! DON’T HURT ME!”
”Wait!”
The shrieking girl pushed her way into the back of the abandoned diner, running through a door that leads into the kitchen.
”Let me help you!”
Charlie gave quick chase, pushing the door to the kitchen out of the way as he tried to follow the child through this derelict labyrinth- but as Charlie stumbled into the kitchen, he saw a scene far more horrifying than anything he had been able to conjure up in his own sick and twisted fantasies. The Nickleman immediately came to a jaw-slacking standstill as the door slowly shut itself behind him.
He hadn’t meant to come into the kitchen—he was just trying to rescue that little girl. But as he stepped over the threshold, he froze. There, under the harsh gleam of a single flickering light, stood something out of a nightmare: a towering figure in a tattered butcher’s apron, its head encased in a rusted, impossibly heavy-looking pyramid of metal. The creature’s hands moved with meticulous, almost ritualistic care as it slid a glinting, bone-white knife over the body laid out on the counter: a woman in a brightly colored luchadora mask. A woman Charlie knew to be his very own daughter. Her limbs lay limp, as though abandoned mid-motion, her vibrant costume a tragic, silent counterpoint to the lifelessness draped over her form.
Charlie’s breath stopped, his heart thudding wildly as the hulking figure paused, tilting its metal helm almost contemplatively. The air felt thick with something ancient, an oppressive energy that seeped into his bones. The rhythmic scrape of the knife, the way the creature’s head moved with the slow precision of an artist at work, terrified Charlie in a manner beyond expression. He wanted to run, to scream, to look away, but his feet were leaden, his gaze riveted to the silent, monstrous ritual unfolding before him. The air buzzed with an unnatural quiet, broken only by his shallow breathing as Charlie realized—this was all his own handiwork.
Charlie looked out from behind the massive metal pyramid encasing his skull. He moved his hands automatically, like a robot, slicing through flesh and bone alike. Charlie tried with all his might to flee, but it was no use: he was trapped here, within confines of his own making. All he could do was scream from beneath the pyramid, scream in horror at what his own hands had wrought. Charlie closed his eyes, terrified of all he saw. That’s when the radio suddenly turned quiet, and a sharp static pierced the air.
When Charlie opened his eyes he was laying on the bathroom floor. Charlie stood up, shaking his head as he tried to figure out what had just unfolded. That’s when he realized he was clutching something in his left hand- Charlie opened his palm to reveal an empty bottle of prescription pills.
”No!”
Charlie threw the bottle against the bathroom mirror, shattering it.
”Fuck...this couldn’t have happened! My sobriety is too important, I wouldn’t have thrown it all away just to get high in some truckstop cafe! Fuck, please, no!”
Charlie broke into a heated sweat, his heart racing and his mind running a thousand miles per hour. He reached for the handle of the door, and stepped out into the abandoned diner. He looked around, noticing that the restaurant had once again changed. The tables were all set up perfectly, but the windows and doors were still boarded. Charlie directed his gaze towards a sign that said ‘Kill Yourself’, and couldn’t help but smirk. It was in that moment that Charlie realized he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
”Ok….I think I get what’s going on here!”
The Nickleman went and plopped himself down into the first open booth, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the table as he tried to make himself comfortable.
Looks like I’m ahead of the curve and Madison Dyson, as always, is trailing one step behind. Shit by the time that one-trick pony makes her way to this rodeo I’ll have befriended all the demons and monsters trapped between these walls. But truth be told, I’m not really all that worried about the ghouls and the gremlins, because you see, I’m not trapped in here with them: they’re trapped in here with me.
I’ve been fighting my inner demons for years and baby, let me tell you something: the house always wins. My mind has gone through the depths of depravity, I’ve seen things and done things that would make poor lil Maddie wet her princess panties. And I’m not saying that because I’m proud of the things I’ve done: I’m saying that to warn Maddie about what she’s walking into.
You know what I’ve done to those I’ve loved.
Can you even imagine the horrors I might inflict on those I hate?
I’m not the same heinous, depraved man I used to be…at least I hope not. But the road to recovery is paved with potholes atop downhill slopes…and Maddie, this diner is feeling like a slope to me. When I’m between these walls, I feel like my old self again…and it disgusts me.
There’s blood on my hands, Maddie- I know this, I’ll have to live with this for the rest of my life…but I don’t want to experience this hell for another moment. I’m telling you Maddie, I will end you to escape this diner if that’s what it takes. I’ll lock you in here and let the monsters have their way with you, because at the end of the day, Maddie, you’re no better a person than I used to be. You deserve to be trapped in here with these unrelenting creatures because you yourself are trapped within your own wicked ways. But not me, Maddie. I can still change- unlike you.
We both get off on getting rises out of other people. I used to brutalize XWF fan favorites for kicks and giggles, I used to stroke my own ego by turning the XWF locker room into my personal torture chamber. And you? Well…you get a rise out of people by being politically incorrect and by using your mouth the wrong way- like some sort of low-rate hooker. But you could never cut it as a sex worker, not with that face made for radio and that voice meant for braille!
You’re a one-trick pony with a broken leg, and I’m going to do to you what your owner should’ve done a long time ago. When our Savage moment finally comes around, I’m going to take you out back and shoot a hot load into your vile mouth before I shoot another hot load of steel into your heartless chest. How’s that for politically correct, you wretched cunt?
See Maddie you can’t change or grow at all, not like me. And even now, your inability to show any humility or humanity whatsoever is forcing me to turn back into that horrid man I once was…but I know that once I’m out of this diner, I’ll finally be fully on the road to recovery. I’ll show you that I know growth, Maddie, when I fertilize the seeds of my return with the smoldering ashes of your career.